From the Ashes
by AshryverEyes
Summary: The second, unwritten part of The Assassins Blade. Short stories from Aelin's time as a young assassin in training, starting from awakening in a river to meeting Sam Cortland and being sent to Endovier. Here's where it all began. (I suck at summaries! Will feature young Dorian and Aedion!)
1. Chapter 1

_AN: I haven't written a fanfic in so long. Hopefully this isn't as awful as it probably is.  
Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Throne of Glass, but I also wrote this around two in the morning so forgive me in advance for any errors! _

Chapter 1

The little girl was smothered in ashes.

Her body lay bare, save for the sodden garb of once-pure silk that now crested her small frame. The river was swollen with ice and her toes became one with the snow as they bled of all sensation. Numbness swept over her like a thicket of honey on bread, trickling slowly but with a suffocating efficiency. And the trees, the spires of oak as ancient as the land itself, were crying ashes as they burnt to the ground. Heavy smoke clouded the air. Screams of agony and fear. Whips. Knives sheathing. Hope failing.

She knew she would be dead past the hour.

Blinking tears―or was it soot? ―from her eyes, Aelin struggled to drag herself out of the stream. Once the bridge had been cut down she'd lost all consciousness and tumbled into the water like a stag may with an arrow burrowed in its breast. Now that she had awoken somewhat, her first priority was to entangle herself from the water that was bleaching her life with an alarming fervor. But her clothes and hair and skin weighed her down. Her heart was already sunk and her eyelids screamed to follow.

A sound like a branch snapping, or perhaps fire consuming glass, sounded nearby. She was too disoriented to tell from where it emitted. Which is why she had no defense against the calloused hands that clamped down over her shoulders and hoisted her from the riverbank. Curiously, her body never left the Earth. It took a dull moment for her to realize she wasn't being carried away, but rather dragged. Through ash and blood. Through unfamiliar faces of the fallen and sharp objects that could only be weapons of those who'd lost their battle. Aelin's eyes were wide as she let herself be taken.

Then the wind picked up, her heart crackling like wildfire, and her thoughts burst through the dam.

Ripping herself from the hands was a harder task than her nine year old mind had imagined. But she'd somehow succeed, and began scrambling on hands and knees in desperate need of escape.

Laughter behind her, and she found herself being hauled upward off the ground. Her futile efforts all for nothing. And when she did finally stare into the eyes of the man who'd torn her from her impending death, she wondered whether or not he'd give her lifeless face one look and decide to toss her back to the mercy of the water. That was not the case.

"Little one, you seem frightened." It wasn't a question and she didn't bother to answer.

His grey eyes were bloodshot, and Aelin was reminded of a time when she and her cousin had been hunting the Little Folk and she'd stumbled upon a bloodied dove. Its murky silver coat had a splatter of crimson adorning one wing, and its neck was bent unnaturally. Aedion dug a small grave while she'd cleaned its feathers, and together they buried the creature, unbeknownst to the Little Folk that watched the ceremonial from above.

Breathing through her nose, Aelin kept the man's gaze and didn't utter a word. She hoped this act of defiance would come off as just that, an act of fearlessness. For all she knew, this man could have been the one who had slit her parent's throats. She tightened her jaw. The though brutalized her. The wound of the memory was still so fresh that it bled in torrents. Left crusted blood on her nightgown. But her body betrayed her once more, and her limbs shook furiously. Her eyes blurred. His darkened.

"You're lucky I even noticed you down there. Your skin is nearly as pale as the snow. I'd have walked right over you if it weren't for you chattering teeth and gasping."

She hadn't known she was making nose. Didn't know she was capable of such a living thing while on the brink of dying.

He continued. "And you're obviously still alive, so why didn't you try to get up? Surely there are far better places to hide than a river in winter." And he sounded so earnest that it unraveled a bit of her mental stability. Fury the likes of wildfire filled her veins.

Her Ashryver eyes burned, this time not from tears or soot or blood. "Not many places to run when your kingdom is falling to pieces around you."

A falcon cried in the distance. The wind spun a putrid stench wayward and Aelin fought the urge to wretch. Flesh, it seemed, caught flame as tenderly as the pages of a book. She would know. Now she'd seen both.

Those dead dove eyes studied her. Assessing her. From her blue feet to her bloodied lip and wild expression and finally to her eyes. "Your parents―where are they?" A slap would have been kinder. She bit into her lip savagely and shook her head. He nodded. Once. Then he set her back, unsteadily, on her feet. But he didn't let go of her forearm, and she was smart enough to know this was more for his benefit than her balance. It terrified her to be so close to this stranger, knowing he was neither ally nor enemy.

"Come with me, then. I can see that you are smart, despite your seeming lack of self-preservation, and so I will be blunt with you. My name is Arobynn Hammel, head of the Assassins Guild in Adarlan," she choked on air, "and I'd be honored to have you training amongst my ranks. All you have to do is take my hand and never look back upon this place. Then the rest of the world is for your leisure. In exchange for your training, you will owe me a debt. But this can be very easily paid off if you concentrate and excel in your studies. Soon, you might even become the greatest assassin in all of Erilea, and I will grant you whatever sum of gold and glamour you desire. But first, you must agree to never return here."

It was…unthinkable.

Blasphemous.

Never return to Terrasen? How could she not? And yet…if she didn't take his offer, would there even be a home to return to? What would become of her country? Her people? Her throne? The thought chiseled away at another unwanted memory of her father taking her to Oakwald in pursuit of the Lord of the North. The throne had always seemed more like a sentencing than an empowerment. But now there was no throne. She had seen the fractured antlers askew in the grand hall while she'd been running for her life. Brannon had crafted that symbol of royalty and now it lay knocked aside like an unfortunate toy.

Remembering the rest, and perhaps the biggest portion of Arobynn's proposition, she felt her lungs constrict as dread set in. Killing people for gain? She just couldn't do it. No matter how many times she'd pestered her father's men to teach her how to hold a blade, or Aedion to teach her how to knock a bow, she'd never intended to use one to murder. Her parents and uncle would be devastated. Aedion would be furious and, despite his youth, attempt to slaughter Arobynn for even suggesting such a thing. If Aedion wasn't already dead.

Aelin stopped breathing all together.

She wasn't certain what made her do it at first. The aroma of rotting flesh, the shrieking and sobbing of her people being butchered, the ashes billowing in the wind, or the mountain castle crumbling to stones. But there was one thing that stood stark in the darkness. One entity that became her, as if the kindling of a new ember. One thought, and that was all it took to make her comply.

Vengeance.

Perhaps if she trained hard enough, learned to use the weapons and skills she was so intrigued by in her own home, then maybe she'd be able to track down the ones who'd hurt her so dearly. She'd find everyone responsible―whether it be the King of Adarlan or her aunt, Queen Maeve or the village stable boy― and she'd invent such a wrath that it would consume her whole being and turn her into hell incarnate. So Aelin looked up into Arobynn's face, and said with all the conviction of a young girl who'd just arisen from the cinders of her world, "I will go with you."

He smiled grimly and took her by the hand, leading her through the path of broken things. And though the princess kept her promise, she was sure that if she returned, the river would remember her.

_AN: Should I continue? Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I honestly didn't think this story would go anywhere, but I hope to see to it that there will be a final chapter. I'm undecided one how many chapters there will be, but I definitely intend to have Sam Cortland, Ben and Lysandra in the stories. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass. All rights go to Sarah J Maas._

_**Important Side Note:**__ I reread the first chapter and decided I wasn't happy with the way I started. I want you guys to see Aelin before the siege of her country! SO, the majority of this chapter is a flashback. I hope you enjoy them because I plan to write plenty (especially with Dorian)! _

Chapter 2

The stables were hazy in the morning light and Aelin basked in the familiar feeling of sunbeams kissing her skin. At this hour, the castle was just beginning to wake. Servants bustled about carrying firewood and trays of blackberry scones. The kitchen was awash with scents of all flavors when Aelin had snuck in and snatched a small handful of biscuits, not noticing the shared grin between the two cooks as they pretended to not notice her plight.

Now she sat perched beneath the loft, waiting for Caldor, the stable head's son, to begin his morning rituals. He was one of the only children in the palace that didn't fear her, and for that she was grateful. The only problem was Aedion. Her cousin didn't get along well with Caldor, for reasons unbeknownst to the princess, and the last time the three of them had been with each other, Aedion left with a bloody lip and Caldor suffered a bruised cheek. Fair punishments were dealt and they'd all moved on….or so she thought.

Sighting his sandy russet hair, Aelin leapt from her spot and approached him. His whole face lit up when he noticed her, and she giggled as he tripped over his feet in his haste to greet her. "I brought you breakfast," she said, holding out the crumbling mess of berries and dough. His gratitude was muffled as he shoved the food into his mouth. Aelin rolled her eyes. "You're nearly as bad as Aedion. The two of you have the table manners akin to wolves."

Caldor's face immediately soured, displeased at being compared to Aedion. He cleaned his berry stained lips on his sleeve and then realized what he'd done and flushed, grumbling. Aelin spared him the further teasing and instead grabbed his hand, dragging him back into the snow bright morning of Terrasen. From afar, smoke could be seen billowing from the chimneys. "What shall it be today? I'd race you, but we both know I'd win."

He grunted something incoherent and shoved her. Aelin, not expecting the push, fell forward into the snow with an expression of shock. Not shock at what he had done, but shock because she had not deflected it sooner. Caldor seemed shocked too, but that quickly gave way to terror. "Aelin! Are you hurt? Gods, I'm an idiot. Please forgive me, I didn't mean for you to―"

"Calm down you oaf, I'm perfectly safe. Not a scratch on me."

His face remained pale.

Aelin picked herself up and dusted off her dress, the pale blue silk reflecting the snow as she twisted. Normally she'd be wearing a cloak, for it was always cold in Terrasen, but in her haste to meet one of her only friends, she'd forgotten. Although, she didn't mind the cold.

Her father had once told her their bloodline was so familiar to the nature of the lands that they couldn't be effected by it. Of course, he'd said this to her when the two of them had snuck from court to venture into Oakwald. Aelin thought she'd never seen her father happier than in those days, when it was just the two of them an no guards or foreign ambassadors or duties; just them and the company of the Little Folk who'd toy with Aelin's hair as she'd run rampant in pursuit for the stags, her father always close behind her.

Glancing at Caldor, he still seemed a bit too pale for her liking. If his face didn't recolor within the half hour, she'd run to her nearest guard and ask him to find a healer.

As they walked aimlessly though the frost, the sun stretched higher above the mountains. The river beyond the White Palace had yet to freeze over, but the white caps of water as they parted over shards of black rock made Aelin's stomach turn.

Once, she'd fallen in.

It was a day just like this one and she'd been with the same company, the two of them hiding from one another in the forest. One wrong movement and she'd slipped on ice, tripping straight into the ravine. She couldn't see or breathe, and her bones grew rigid. Caldor couldn't find her amongst the current, so he'd ran screaming for help. Moments later, guards rushed into the river, or so she'd been told―for she'd blacked out, and her father's Captain, Quinn, dragged her out of the current and ran her to the nearest healer faster than she'd ever been carried. Her uncle's men followed in pursuit, some rushing to find a doctor or fetch hot water.

When the court had been informed, Aelin was certain she'd die from the following week had the river not killed her. Truly, the entire scene couldn't have gone any worse. Quinn, having not found a healer, barged into the throne room with an ice-white princess in his arms. All speaking came to a halt as every head turned towards the scene. Then pandemonium broke.

Her mother had screamed, a wretched terrified cry. Evalin was across the room and crying into her daughter's wet hair, willing Aelin to respond to her touch. Rhoe Galathynius rushed to his wife's side, clutching the both of them to his broad chest. King Orlorn was yelling something but Aelin couldn't hear it above the noise of the court. And then, the worst.

Panic amassed ten-fold when Aelin's nose started to trickle a steady stream of crimson, turning her ivory lips into blossoms. Rhoe stopped breathing, his hands tightened around Aelin's as if he could tether her to the world.

A healer had come only a minute later, although it had felt like an hour, and saw to Aelin's minor head wound right in front of the court while she'd rested unconsciously in her mother's arms. Aelin was then put on bedrest for an entire week, to make sure her fever wouldn't spike again. She'd gotten visitors by the hour, but it was Aedion who never left her side. Who'd slept in a chair beside her bed and read to her even though he abhorred reading. He'd glare at anyone who disturbed her, even if it had been her parents.

Aelin remembered seeing her cousin cry for the first time that night, and it fragmented her world. She'd vowed to never put him in a scenario like that again, just as he'd vowed to never leave her side.

With that thought in mind, Aelin wasn't surprised when she turned back to Caldor and noticed a figure emerging from the stables. With his eyes burning and a face grim, Aedion Ashryver looked all the more the warrior he aspired to become.

"Lay a hand on her again and I will see to it that hand is removed."

"By the Gods, Aedion, he wasn't trying to kill me. Besides, he wouldn't be able to. I have excellent swordsmanship."

Aedion kept sneering at the other boy. "Then why did you wind up on the ground? No matter if it was intentionally harmless, many things can become an accidental fatality." The river roared in the background and Aelin fought the urge to wince. They all knew what he'd been talking about.

Caldor blushed, both with indignation and anger. "I'd never harm the princess."

"No, you certainly would not," Aelin quipped, stepping forward between the two boys. "Aedion we were just playing and he caught me off guard. Nothing more happened and I haven't a scratch on me."

Her cousin, as if just realizing the state of her gown, replied, "You also don't have a cloak on you." Then he snapped off his own fur pelt and slung it around her shoulders without a second thought. She didn't try to fight him, if only because she knew she wouldn't win or because the warmth felt like a blessing against her frigid skin.

She didn't want Aedion to be cold either, so despite his anger at her friend, she sidled up to him and curled around his arm. Aedion perked at that and drew her in closer, her cheek pressed up against his firm shoulder and her small hand splayed against his chest. Caldor fought to swallow his disdain at the sight, but when Aedion began to tuck Aelin's hair back from her eyes, he couldn't contain himself any further.

"Why can't you just go find something else to do other than stalk her, Aedion? I swear you're her shadow! Can't you two be separated for a little more than an hour? I bet you even sleep in her rooms. Some warrior." Caldor was breathing heavily, his knuckles shivering at his sides. The wind had picked up and Aelin was forced to let go of Aedion seconds after.

Aedion froze as whitewashed fury bathed him.

Aelin didn't stop the punch that was launched from her cousin's fist, nor did she apologize for his actions later when Caldor tried to block up a bloodied nose. Caldor should have known better than to provoke her cousin on a matter such as their bond. It was something so sacred between Aelin and Aedion, connecting them through blood and scent and something else all encompassing. And Aedion would rather shovel horse dung for a month than allow someone to mock that bond. Aelin knew this, because she'd do the same. She also knew Caldor wouldn't blame her for her cousin's actions, but it put a strain on their friendship. Trying not to care too much, Aelin remained ignorant. She'd rather have Aedion at her side than anyone else. Regardless of what it cost her.

Icicles strung out far against the palace gates by the time they'd returned. Blizzards weren't as rare as rainfall, but that evening had proved to be historical with all its snowy might. Guards that had been posted outdoors were called inside to watch from the windowsills. Maids bustled about, brewing fresh batches of hot chocolate and tea for the residence stuck inside. King Orlorn was pleased to retire to his library early, and Prince Rhoe had suggested a small festivity in light of the oncoming storm. Men gathered in their barracks and drank and played cards all night long. Few conjured up instruments as well.

Terrasenites would need more than snow to dampen their spirits. If anything, it brought about the best of them. It was in their nature to live peacefully with the bitter winds, especially harsh winters. Terrasenites were carved from the Staghorns and sewn together by threads of snow and wind. Or so Evalin liked to tell her daughter.

Aelin snuck out with Aedion to listened to the storyteller, gathered by the kitchen hearth, speak legends of the ancient stags all throughout the night. Sol and Suria, the twins of her father's merchant friend, had been snickering to one another while the dodged crumbs being thrown amiss. A scullery maid was glaring at the little devils. Elide, Lady Marion's daughter, was nowhere to be seen. She'd gone to rest hours before the snow slammed the gates shut. Aelin didn't mind much, for she knew the other girl wasn't fond of her abilities to manipulate flame. Aelin wasn't very fond of her powers either, but nothing could be done for it. The young Lord of Allsbrook, Ren, had been visiting with his father and insisted on joining the twins. None of the children in the kitchen were afraid of Aelin, and so she denied her father's invitation to stay in the throne room. The storm raged on, but Aelin was warm.

While she drifted asleep, her thoughts took her from the confines of her chamber and into the heart of Orynth, where candles had been lit in celebration for her. Fire to cherish their future queen. Flames to reminiscence the ancient power of this land. There were stags assembled on cliff faces, and white smoke billowed forth as they breathed through their noses. Aelin gently rested her palm between the eyes of one, and nestled into its warmth. Power surged through her, strong and familiar. A tether to her ancestors.

When she opened her eyes again, her face was streaked with blood and her hands blistered. The great stag had been butchered apart right in front of her, and steam rose from where its hot blood melted into the snow. Frantically looking up, she caught the gaze of a dead dove.

And threw herself into a sitting position as her eyes snapped open.

Grabbing at her chest, Aelin stumbled out a bed and ran for the basin where she promptly disposed the contents of her stomach. Choking on air, tears and sweat, she blinked to clear her mind. The oak flooring filled her view and the foreign scent of Adarlan was never more comforting than in that minute.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Or rather, a memory.

Shivering as she walked towards her window, her lungs twisting painfully, Aelin threw back the curtains to reveal Rifthold in all its savage beauty. And although her hands were wet, it wasn't from blood.

No matter how many times she shifted in her sleep, Aelin couldn't find it in herself to close her eyes. She knew then that she truly couldn't ever return to Terrasen, and not just because of the promise she made to Arobynn. And it filled her with a disgusting joy.

vVv

The silence was maddening, almost as awful as the putrid stench of sweat and ocean spray. For reasons still undisclosed, the entire city of Riftold always stunk of iron, so profound that it clung to all garments, no matter the class or quality of making, from torn cotton to silk. And so very different from the morning smoke and mildew aroma of Terrasen. Of course, with Endovier being only a few miles north of the boarders, salt was sure to get carried by the winds that blew in like the waves. And unlike the rest of the city's inhabitance, Aelin knew why the bitter tang of iron was so extrusive.

Nestled beneath the city, kept from all respectable forms of life, was the Assassin's Keep. A steadfast hold of iron and weaponry.

It was an unholy hour of the morning when Aelin found herself thrust from the cream colored bedsheets and thrown hard enough into the oak flooring that her teeth sang. Her eyes flew open, hands grasping at her sides for a knife, when suddenly a body was propped above her, gripping her hands and keeping them to her ribcage while she writhed and hissed. Arobynn had supplied her with a fine kit of weapons, small enough to be considered cutlery much to her disdain. It was one of the many things he had presented her upon her arrival. However, she didn't know why she'd been given the deadly trinkets…until now. At least she was smart enough to keep them nearby just in case he had planned for her to use them before she began to train, to test out her abilities prior to his teachings.

The boy leaned in closer, brown eyes sparking with mirth. "I hope you enjoyed your bed. Now that you're acquainted, I'm sure you won't mind being introduced to the floor." To emphasize his words, he slammed her back against it. Wincing, she tried to blink the oncoming tears away, reminding herself that pain was a vice only she could tighten. Staring up at the stranger, she smiled with all her teeth, stretching her split lip, "What? No breakfast?" He sneered at her.

Thus commenced her first day of training.


End file.
